Maiden Voyage
by Dala1
Summary: The first journey of the HMS Dauntless, pride of the Royal Navy. (gen)
1. Swann

(standard disclaimer applies)

* * *

Nearly everyone he knew had advised him against taking the position. It was hot and dangerous and savage, they said. Did he really want his only child to grow up half-wild, to miss her proper debut, or – God forbid – catch some horrible tropical disease?

Only Constance's elderly mother had been in favor of the idea. She had run her sharp blue eyes over her son-in-law, taking in the invisible weight on his shoulders, the loss in the deep lines of his face, the nails he'd bitten down to the quick. And she had gathered her granddaughter close, studying Elizabeth's freckles, patting her brown curls.

"You take this little girl places, Weatherby," she had ordered with a crisp, satisfied nod. And though she had fought the marriage right up until the day Constance died, he felt as though her approval mattered more than the king's.

Now he looked down at Elizabeth delighting in the spray of the sea on her face, the dolphins leaping next to the hull, the sun shining down on the deck. And he hoped the old woman knew what she was about.

* * *


	2. Elizabeth

* * *

For the first time since her mother had died, Elizabeth could stretch.

She felt as though she'd spent two years in a cocoon, curled in on herself, waiting for the chance to break through into the open air and the sunlight. A larger playroom had not alleviated this confinement, nor had any of her father's attempts to draw her out.

But the ocean – the ship – here she could be free, here she could unfurl her arms like wings and not fear bumping into her mother's ghost or her father's private grief.

"Put your hat back on, my dear," he said, tweaking the loose ribbon, and she reluctantly complied. "I'm sorry that we could not persuade the Wickleins to accompany us on this voyage. You must be yearning for a playmate."

"I'm all right," said Elizabeth, wondering what on earth he could mean. She had him, for one thing, and all to herself, too. The sailors were fascinating and she couldn't wait to eavesdrop on their conversations. She might even make a friend of Lieutenant Norrington – he seemed so grave and serious, but she'd caught him feeding chicken to the ship's cat at supper. Deep down she was apprehensive about how the children of Port Royal would find her, but for now she felt herself to be in quite good company.

* * *


	3. Norrington

* * *

The captain fretted over how the _Dauntless_ would perform once they hit open water. She was new and untried, the paint practically still wet on her transom, but she had been chosen as the grandest of the ships in port, and thus suited to the noble task of transporting the new governor to his new home.

Norrington wasn't sure how he felt about playing nurse to a overdressed man and a little girl, but he at least trusted in his new ship's power should they encounter any trouble. They had fired a volley into the empty ocean to test proficiency, to Governor Swann's dismay and to his daughter's delight . The crew had performed well and the captain had been pleased with Norrington's own conduct. He credited the ship herself, how easily she responded, as if all the hinges of the operation had been newly oiled. And though she wasn't built for speed, they were making surprisingly good time.

He stood at the bow and looked out upon a choppy gray sea. Swann had gone below, still tormented by seasickness, and after fifteen minutes of coaxing had managed to drag Elizabeth with him. It was bad weather for passengers, but it was the sort of weather Norrington loved – a stiff breeze lifting the sails, the menace of the clouds vying with the promise of the sun peeking behind them.

It was as silly as the girl's games, perhaps, but he could not help laying a hand on the ship's rail. "You and I," he whispered, "we are going places."

* * *


	4. Gibbs

* * *

Gibbs didn't understand why they had to put up with a fancified rich man forever poking about their work. They were headed for the Caribbean, for pirates and heathens and hurricanes, and this journey seemed a mite tame for such a grand new ship of the fleet.

Even more than he objected to the governor's presence, he objected to the wee girl. Women onboard were bad luck, every sailor worth his salt knew that. What was more, this one was curious and clever and disinclined to do what she was told. With the wide-set eyes and the dark hair, without the silk dresses and petticoats, he could almost mistake her for his own Molly. But Molly was gone now, and Mary with her – any strength she might have had to fight the consumption left her the day they buried their child. The doctor had said she might have a chance if they could get her out of the cold and damp, but February in England left little chance of that.

As they sailed farther south and the sun gained in power, he imagined it leeching away the rot in Mary's lungs, the mold from Molly's grave. If they were here. Except, of course, if they were here, he would not be. He'd sooner have deserted than gone so far from his family.

He gazed at Miss Swann across the deck and took another surreptitious swig from his flask. There was no place farther than death, but Jamaica came damn near, and he could not wait to be rid of this fog.

* * *


End file.
